


Old Wounds and New

by Resoan



Series: Dragon Age Inquisition AU [14]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 23:26:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4764920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resoan/pseuds/Resoan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Abelas expresses and interest in seeing the Exalted Plains, Fena'dea is only too happy to oblige his request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Wounds and New

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Andauril](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andauril/gifts).



> This was originally written on tumblr for Andauril, who requested a Kiss in the Rain.

When Fena’dea had first mentioned the  _Dirthavaren_ to Abelas, she’d found him curious for the very first time. He’d pressed on with his questioning: about Andraste, elven slavery to a  _shemlen_  empire ruled by mages, and the  _shem_ ’s unrelenting need to interfere in elven affairs. 

She’d seen Abelas outraged before - when his temple had been despoiled by red templars and Inquisition agents who did not belong, but to see him so actively defensive for people he claimed were not his own was a heartening sight.

Her offer to take him to the Exalted Plains to see the land for himself had been half in jest, but his agreement left Fena’dea rightly baffled; thankfully, with Corypheus defeated, Velahari didn’t mind letting the pair leave for an uncertain period of time. 

They set off early, their packs light and their weapons sheathed, amid various verbal concerns for their safety and return. They took mounts to expedite the traveling, though left them at one of the Inquisition camps once they finally crossed into Orlais and the Exalted Plains were not far.

It was not difficult to discern Abelas’ disappointment when they first arrived. The land was still desolate and dangerous, from rifts and demons and in the wake of Celene and Gaspard’s war; Fena’dea lost track of how long Abelas seemed to stand in one place, unmoving, no doubt attempting to soak in the history of the land and the blood of the elves that had been spilled there.

Perhaps it was not her place to say anything, but as the silence stretched on between them, Fena’dea could no longer stop herself. “I’m a little surprised it means so much to you - the history of elves. Elves you don’t consider as kin.” 

Abelas’ gaze was sharp as he turned it towards her, full of pent-up emotion that glimmered in molten gold, and Fena’dea felt her stomach drop from the shame she felt.

“Perhaps I do not consider them kin, no, but history has taken from them much - just as it has from us.” 

Fena’dea’s lips parted to apologize, but Abelas merely shook his head and turned to look over the landscape once more. “Come. I wish to explore these lands.” Fena’dea nodded before following after him, her heart heavy.

One afternoon morphed into two, then three, and then a week. Abelas left no stone uncovered, and Fena’dea had something to say about nearly every landmark - Velahari had discovered many on their previous trek through the area months ago. 

It was at  _Var Bellanaris_  that Abelas paused, the sentinel bowing his head in reverence before speaking. “Go. I will find you later. This is one stop I must make alone.” 

The Exalted Plains were not small, but Fena’dea nodded nonetheless, her smile sympathetic.

“Do not worry,” Abelas then added softly, a hand lifting to cup the side of her jaw. His fingers lingered long enough to brush the soft skin of her cheek before he headed inside, and Fena’dea turned, her smile self-satisfied as she strolled in the direction of the Dalish camp, or where it had been previously. It had been a long while, after all, and it would not have been surprising had the clan moved on from the area.

As expected, the camp was abandoned with only a few remnants to prove the Dalish had been there at all. Bits of tree bark and moss littered the ground, undoubtedly where the craftsman had whittled bows into proper shape or trimmed the edges of a shield, and Fena’dea’s expression turned nostalgic as memories of living in her own clan came on strong.

Only the crack of thunder overhead and a few, big droplets of rain drew her out of her memory. The skies over the Exalted Plains were covered in heavy, black clouds, and just as the rain began to fall more steadily, Fena’dea darted under a rocky formation where the clan had earlier kept their halla. Rivulets of rainwater dripped down the inside from cracks in the rock, but it kept her dry.

More than once, though, she debated going back to Abelas. The Plains were difficult to navigate even on a sunny, clear day, and with the sun about to set, it would be hard for even an inveterate tracker like Abelas to find his way without difficulty.

A strange sound soon drew her attention, however. Between the cracks of roiling thunder, she could hear the howling of wolves - strange, considering she doubted any creature would wish to hunt or forage for food in the downpour. 

Only a sharp cry that was obviously not from an animal eventually spurred her to action, daggers clutched in her hands. Water drenched her from the first second she stepped out from under the cover of rocks, but seeing Abelas surrounded by a pack of ravenous wolves, bleeding and snarling himself, made her soon forget such a thing. 

The first wolf she came across went down with a quiet whimper as her dagger slid across fur and flesh to cut down to bone - she tried to make the kill as cleanly and quickly as possible. They seemed to all converge on her after that, and though some sharp fangs found the metal of her armor, none of the wounds were serious. 

“Are you all right?” Fena’dea gasped for breath as she finally sheathed her daggers, brown bangs stuck to her forehead and slightly obscuring her eyes which peered over at Abelas with concern.

“I will survive.” 

Fena’dea huffed at his answer, though did not hesitate going to him, her hand gently pressing over top of his where he tried to staunch the bleeding on his side. Water dripped from the lip of his hood as Fena’dea looked up at his face, and was only afforded a brief glimpse of his lips, parted in surprise, before his lips found hers and his hood shielded her from the rain.

It was a wet kiss, cold and slippery, but there was relief there as well; yet, it still managed to warm Fena’dea down to the tips of her toes, and she did not allow Abelas to move away when they first parted from it. Only after the second, longer kiss did she murmur, “We should get back to camp, and have your wound tended to.” 

And for the first time Fena’dea could recall, Abelas agreed without complaint or airs of stoicism.


End file.
